Books and Poetry
Prompted by Sadje’s “What do you see #185.” Image credit: Jenna Hamra, Pexels
Treasured cuddles;
Sweeten the early morning wakeups;
His little hand in mine;
Adventurous outings;
Squeals of delight.
Time passes;
Out of boyhood.
Ah, well…
Mother to a grown man;
Relishing the occasional warm embrace.
Then arrives his own little boy;
Squeals of delight;
Adventurous outings;
Hand in hand;
Sleeping over;
Waking me up with treasured cuddles.
A mermaid’s last wish;
Feet to explore the landscape;
Her flippers transform.
Prompted by Ronavon Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge .
Walk away —
a feeble attempt to circumvent reality.
Your “happy face” surely
incongruent with your circumstances.
My nod reveals understanding
and my empathy is genuine.
But, the turbulence you attempt to escape
is only compounded by your cowardice.
Prompted by Misky at https://thetwiglets.wordpress.com/2023/05/02/twiglet-323/.
They are building high-rises on the sand, while the powers that be look the other way. Denying that water will take over the land; that a monster storm could develop any day. What do they expect to pass? As their buildings shall not rise as a ship’s hull; Instead they will shatter like fragile glass; and any person who invests is a deceived gull. Yet they continue to build more and more, as enormous income there must be. But when the water rushes ashore, it will certainly all be washed out to sea. "Progress" will not permit them to go far away from the water that flows so deep. Only the lack of available shoreline will bar further development, as on building they keep.
Prompted by dVerse host Laura Bloomsbury:
I chose the following poem by Robert Frost:
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be---
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
A formidable place;
I choose to reside;
But it serves as protection;
While I am inside.
I thank the woodpecker;
For the hole it had made;
In the tall cactus;
Where my nest I have laid.
So small am I;
A savory meal for some;
Yet a symbol of wisdom;
I’ve somehow become.
And from my high perch;
I can easily see;
A tasty songbird;
In a neighboring tree.
Written in response to dVerse host Kim’s prompt to write about an animal’s home.
By day, you are discrete and mysterious;
Mutely listening to the bustling sounds around you;
But refusing to engage with even the prettiest butterfly.
Like the evening primrose,
Your petals unfurl at dusk;
You transform into a thing of beauty;
Attracting the rare moth;
And surrounding yourself with creatures of the night.
As prompted by W3 Prompt #53: Wea’ve Written Weekly poet of the week, Brandon Ellrich.
Meant to take a different route;
Am I lost?
Pondering my predicament.
Meandering about, but I seem to need
A directive of some sort;
Perhaps there is a clue.
Missing something obvious;
As if it is spelled out for me;
Puzzling to be sure.
Prompted by dVerse host whimsygizmo – “Mapping. Mapped. Map it out. Write all over the map. Be a mapmaker. Whatever form of the word you choose, just be sure your poem is mapped out at just 44 words.”
A stone rolls along;
In the river’s gentle flow;
It’s a long journey.
Many obstacles;
Bumps and bruises to be sure;
Stuck and then set free.
As flow turns rapid;
The stone’s progress evident;
Destination known.
Other precious stones;
Resting on the riverbed;
Tranquil trickle touch.
You bring beauty, brilliance and buoyancy;
But he wears black.
You show broadmindedness, benevolence and boundlessness;
But he broods in black.
You are brave, brainy and balanced;
But he’s bemused in black.
You are breathtaking, beguiling and beloved;
But he’s bleak in black;
You have believed, begged, and bartered;
But his betrayal has born black.
You have blamed, blasted and banished,
But he is back donning black.
This was inspired by Misky’s Twiglet #322 prompt “you wear black.” I also attempted to work with consonance, as prompted by David in W3 Prompt #52: Wea’ve Written Weekly, but not sure I got that quite right.
Living life in a bottle;
As the world gyrates to its frenetic beat.
Hips start swaying;
Feet start tapping;
Time to go bang the drum.
dVerse host Punam prompts us to write a poem incorporating two song titles by Linda Perry.
JJJ Interactive Books